Page 66 of The Time It Takes
“Humor me.”
I sigh. “No one knew me there. It was new and refreshing. I could be anyone I wanted to be. I could focus on my career. Every person I spoke to lived so infinitely in the present that I didn’t have to live in my past anymore.” I pause, realizing what I’ve said and how he could take it the wrong way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that—”
“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you have that.” His tone is reassuring, and I realize he isn’t judging me, he’s just trying to understand.
“Don’t get me wrong, New York isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve been mugged just about every year I’ve lived there.”
He chokes on a laugh. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”
“As serious as a blocked artery. I’ve learned to only leave my apartment during the day if I’m alone. Sometimes even that’s dangerous.”
He only laughs more, and it makes me feel alive. “Sounds magical.”
“It is indeed a very magical place,” I agree sarcastically. “Just like the movies.”
I hear him breathing on the other end of the phone and I know he’s trying to collect himself.
“My turn,” I state as I hear him fumble with a door and then I hear a stream of water. “Wait, are you peeing with me on the phone?”
The stream of water pauses. “Uh…yes. Yes, I am.”
I groan. “Jeez, Ollie. Boundaries!” I laugh and it gives away any hint of seriousness. I missed this—this feels so real, so normal that it almost hurts.
“Relax, Damsel. I’m messing with you, it’s only the faucet.” His voice comes out muffled like he’s brushing his teeth. “Now, was there a question you had for me?”
Damsel. He called me Damsel.
I’m frozen—trapped in something that I can’t quite place. Relief? Panic?
I have to swallow the lump in my throat that’s enabling me to speak. I’m quiet for too long and I know Oliver’s realizing what he’s said. He doesn’t apologize for it. We both just sit there and absorb it. Too many moments pass before I realize he’s waiting for a question.
What question? I’ve got nothing now. My mind has left the vicinity.
I clear my throat. “Right, uh. Question. Yes.”
“Spit it out, Damsel.”
My heart stutters in my chest. He said it again. He’s making a point. He knows he said it and it wasn’t because it slipped out. He meant to. Butterflies swirl in my stomach—fluttering like they did when I was just a kid who fell in love with her best friend and didn’t have a clue what to do with it.
“Is life what you thought it’d be?” I ask softly.
“Not at all.” A breath rushes out of him, and I know he’s fallen back onto his bed. “Isn’t that the point though?”
“What is?”
“We get an idea of how our lives are going to be and then we’re hit like a truck when we’re stuck in how it is. Time is ruthless, but life is taking what it gives. There’s not enough of it to consider everything that could have been.”
He’s right, I know he’s right. It still doesn’t stop my heart from sinking. I stay quiet, not sure what to say. I was on the verge of becoming a mess again. Talking to him is giving me Deja vu and it’s confusing me.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Since you asked me. I get to ask you…Are you happy?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “That’s a hard question,” I say truthfully. “Sometimes, yes. I mean, what psycho is happy all the time, you know?”
I hear the shuffling of covers. “When are you the happiest?”
